At Hogwarts, the Silencing Charm is a sixth-year topic. It's required in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Transfiguration, so most adult British wizards should, in theory, be able to use it. But since sixth- and seventh-year courses are elective, some wizards skip all three, leading to wildly varying skill levels with the spell.
"So, you want to learn the Silencing Charm?" Professor Flitwick asked that afternoon, looking at Sean with a mix of surprise and pride in the classroom.
"Yes, Professor," Sean nodded.
"Let's see your Levitation Charm, then," Flitwick said, pointing to a chair. Before he could finish, Sean's incantation rang out, and the wooden chair shot up, spinning a few times in the air.
"Remarkable progress!" Flitwick clapped, genuinely impressed. "Now, Mr. Green, tell me—what are the benefits of the Silencing Charm? And the drawbacks?"
"Your opponent won't know what spell you're casting, giving you a split-second advantage," Sean said after a brief pause. Then he added, "But skipping the vocal incantation means losing the boost to accuracy and emotional intensity, so the spell's power can be weaker."
His first answer came straight from Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. The second was his own reasoning. In the books, spoken spells were often stronger than silent ones. During the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Hermione was injured by Death Eater Dolohov, and it was noted that if he'd spoken the incantation aloud, the damage would've been even worse.
"An excellent answer!" Flitwick said, his surprise tinged with delight. "When a wizard is mature enough to clearly visualize their intent without speaking, they're ready to learn the Silencing Charm. Clearly, Mr. Green, it's time for you to climb higher."
As he spoke, Flitwick waved his wand, and the chair zoomed around the classroom. Not just the chair—jars, bottles, and books took flight, too. Even a squirrel that had scampered in through the window wasn't spared, creating a whimsical scene.
"The key to the Silencing Charm is intense focus," Flitwick explained. "Wizards instinctively want to speak their spells aloud, which can cause silent casting to fail. You need a clear, precise incantation in your mind. Give it a try, Mr. Green."
Sean's quill scratched away nearby, magically taking notes as he thought—a perk of wizardry. Flitwick's approval grew, and even when Sean failed three times in a row, the professor remained endlessly patient.
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Sean was frustrated. For a wizard used to chanting spells, silent casting felt awkward. There was a strong, almost physical urge to say the words aloud, and suppressing it took immense willpower. His lips would tense or twitch silently, which was distracting in itself—like trying not to sneeze.
But under Flitwick's guidance, Sean got the hang of it. When he finally cast the spell without a sound, Flitwick beamed. "Incredible progress! Now, let's move on—focus on both the spell and your emotions for a silent cast. Calling a spell to mind without a single sound requires tremendous focus and willpower. It's no easy feat…"
Emotions, firm resolve, and a clear incantation? Sean thought, gripping his wand.
He waved it—
[You practiced the Levitation Charm at an Expert level. Proficiency +50]
"Merlin's beard!" Flitwick exclaimed.
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October was creeping closer, bringing damp, chilly air across the grounds and into the castle. Raindrops the size of bullets pelted the windows for days without stopping. The lake swelled, flowerbeds turned to mud, and the pumpkins near Hagrid's hut ballooned to the size of garden sheds.
Maybe it was the mental strain of the Silencing Charm, Snape's grueling Potions lessons, or the icy night air, but Sean caught a cold—right after mastering silent casting. His breathing was heavy, his nostrils flaring, his cheeks and forehead flushed. He felt dizzy, sometimes unable to tell if he was looking at Hermione or a younger McGonagall.
Just yesterday, McGonagall had been coaching Sean in her office while Hermione was guiding Justin in the corridor. Michael, passing by, snapped two photos from the office window, noting how Hermione's mannerisms mirrored her Head of House perfectly.
"No Transfiguration practice today, child. Go to the Great Hall and have some pumpkin juice," McGonagall said, pressing her hand to Sean's forehead. It was hot enough to fry an egg.
Dazed, Sean was led to the Great Hall. Even in his foggy state, he checked his progress. He'd successfully cast a silent Levitation Charm that Wednesday morning. If he could master the Smokescreen and Repelling Charms next, he'd earn that scholarship he'd been dreaming of. But in his current state, could he even cast a spell? Flitwick was eager to give him private lessons, but that seemed unlikely now.
His thoughts wandered until they landed on the hospital wing's matron—Madam Pomfrey, the woman said to save any wizard with a single breath left. She could mend bones in "a second"—Ginny Weasley's sprained ankle was healed in a blink, Harry Potter's shattered skull stitched up instantly. After Lockhart's botched attempt to fix Harry's arm in second year, Pomfrey used Skele-Gro to regrow all 33 bones in his arm in no time. Her track record was practically superhuman.
As Justin fretted beside him, Sean croaked, "Let's go to the hospital wing."
That snapped Justin out of his panic, and he helped Sean to his feet.
Meanwhile, McGonagall had already stormed out of the Great Hall with her usual efficiency. Hogwarts was well-prepared for student colds, with a magical cold remedy among its resources. The most effective version, though, was brewed by a certain Slytherin Head of House.
At the end of a corridor, McGonagall found Snape. "Severus, I need a cold remedy potion."
Snape paused, then replied in his icy tone, "Professor McGonagall… if I recall correctly, treating student colds is my responsibility."
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